


but here it's always sav'saaba

by alpacawool



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Brothels, Chastity Device, Crying, Dacryphilia, Deepthroating, Dildos, Femdom, Knotting, Monsters, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Oviposition, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Work, Size Difference, Strap-Ons, Trans Link (Legend of Zelda), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, a couple moments that kinda look like dubious consent, but just assume that Link is GGG all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 14:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacawool/pseuds/alpacawool
Summary: Greta runs a brothel out of the Gerudo Secret Club. She's taken in voe from all over Hyrule to work for her, serving the vai of Gerudo Town. Her personal favorite is a Hylian whom she calls Hero.





	but here it's always sav'saaba

**Author's Note:**

> One time before I played enough of BOTW to reach the Gerudo Desert, and also before I started writing fanfic, I saw a really great piece of fanart (since lost in the Tumblr purge) that featured Greta absolutely railing trans Link. At the time I was like, "wow, I love this, who's this cool lady?"  
Not that long ago I picked the game back up after putting it down for quite a while, and made it to the GSC. I immediately remembered that fanart. A bit of thirsty daydreaming, with that as a starting point, led me here.

There was a knock at the door, and a low, melodious voice gave the password. It was Reeza. Greta opened the door, allowing the tall, muscular vai in.

“You’re late! I was starting to think you must be sick, or that you finally decided you were going off into the world.”

Reeza laughed. “That’s funny. No, we were just throwing back a few drinks at the Canteen after drills and got to gabbing.”

“Didn’t want to catch any flack for your little habit, hm?” 

The guard punched Greta’s shoulder playfully. “Hush, you fishmonger.”

Greta just smiled. “So, what will it be tonight, Reeza?”

***

The bell above Link’s divan chimed merrily, jolting him from his daydreaming. He leapt to his feet, checking his hair and clothes in the copper looking glass on the wall. He put on a pair of ruby earrings and a pendant to complement the red of his loose trousers – it must have been Reeza, this time of the week and at this hour, and she liked him pretty. Satisfied, he dashed up the steps to Greta’s reception desk.

_ Good evening, Reeza, _he signed.

“Hello, Hero,” she greeted him, her normally stern face graced with a warm smile.

None of Greta’s workers used their real names with their clients, and she had named him _ Hero _for the similarities in his appearance to the hero of legend. He never bothered to correct her, to tell her what he’d learned of his own story. That wasn’t his life anymore. When she’d found him nearly frozen to death in the desert at night, gravely injured with the remains of a half-dozen Lizalfos around him, he’d become hers, and when she’d nursed him back to health, he’d slipped comfortably into her service, accepting the generous deal she offered – a room and bed of his own, all the food he could eat, and enough free time to pursue his interests as long as they didn’t carry him out of her establishment, in exchange for his body.

His room was well-appointed, his divan was comfortable, he spent his spare time working on new recipes in the kitchen with all the ingredients he could want, and his clients loved him. It wasn’t a bad life.

He led Reeza down the soft stone steps and around the corner into his room. She pulled the curtain firmly behind them, and reached to grab his chin in her large, well-manicured hand. 

“You’re looking lovely as always, pretty voe,” she crooned.

He blushed and looked up at her through his lashes as she ran her fingers down his neck and over his shoulders, over his gently muscled chest and abdomen. She stared hungrily while she touched him, as she always did, before sitting down on his divan and pulling him into her lap. He let himself be enveloped by her arms, positioning himself as he knew she liked: straddling one of her hard, muscled thighs, hands on her powerful shoulders. 

She spread one warm hand over the back of his neck, pulling him close and running her lips over his throat, his clavicles, pulling his earlobe, earring and all, into her mouth. He gasped softly in response, enjoying and encouraging her firm sensuality. When her kisses grew teeth and she began to nip hungrily at the soft skin of his neck and chest, he let himself grind lightly against her thigh.

“Is my pretty voe eager tonight?” she murmured, lips curling into a smile.

He shook his head slightly, continuing to rub himself quietly against her leg. 

Suddenly her hand was fisted around the hair bunched at the top of his head, pulling him _ up, _hard, and he gasped sharply, rising on his knees. 

“Not tonight,” she smiled, and shoved him to the floor at her feet. She pulled her sirwal down and kicked it off. “Now, get to work, voe.”

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the floor in front of her, and brought his lips to her sex. This was his skill; it was what made him one of the Secret Club’s favorites. Half of Gerudo town knocked on Greta’s door for some time with his mouth, for the sight of a pretty voe, soft but not too soft, on his knees for their pleasure. 

Reeza was one of the straightforward ones. She’d lift him into her lap and molest him; sometimes she’d let him ride her leg until he was panting and moaning and sometimes she’d squeeze between his legs a bit before pushing him to the floor and kicking off her sirwal. Sometimes she’d leave after one orgasm and sometimes she’d stay until his jaw was aching and she was thrusting her clit furiously into his mouth, chasing a third or fourth one. She never had him remove his trousers and never let him use his hands. She’d get up, wipe his chin fondly, thank him, and go.

He’d go tinker in the kitchen, or talk with one of the others, perhaps take a swim in Ijem’s pool, or clean up for his next client. It was a comfortable life.

***

Greta was proud of the Secret Club. She’d made something here in the Forbidden City that worked efficiently, and met the needs of her people and her little menagerie.

Sure, voe were banned from the city, but her workers didn’t go out into the city proper. They were only here, in her quiet, sensual little world, tucked away from the town. Those of her sisters who didn’t partner exclusively with other Gerudo and who didn’t wish to go gallivanting all over Hyrule to find a voe partner could meet their needs right here – and Greta catered to a wide variety of tastes.

Her workers were all rescues in some way or another. A fugitive Rito here, a destitute Hylian there, a Zora fleeing an arranged marriage, even a Moblin who seemed to have tired of roving around the hills looking for things to club to death. She gave them shelter, food, and time off; they pleased her people in whatever ways were asked of them. If anyone from out in the world came asking after one of her workers, she turned them away; they had fled here for a reason and she wasn’t going to betray them. Sure, she didn’t pay them in rupees, and their access to the outdoors was limited to the small courtyard that she could shield from prying eyes, but she cared for them. She made sure the Rito had a space that was cool enough, she’d had a pool dug for the Zora, and she spent a fortune on gems for the lone Goron to eat. She kept them happy. Any of them could leave at any time, but somehow, very few of them ever did. 

And she learned such interesting things about the vai who became club members. Many, of course, had simple enough tastes. But as she expanded the variety of her workers, more vai flocked to her door. There was a pigtailed Hylian vai who came all the way from Faron once a fortnight to spend a night with the Zora, leaving with her skin pruny from the water of his pool. A Rito vai who lived in town visited regularly for an evening of massage and being hand-fed grilled meat by a trio of Hylians. Yaido showed up at least once every few days to do… whatever she did with the Goron. Calyban wasn’t the only one who started showing up when rumors spread about Greta having a Moblin, but she was one of the few who came back for him again and again. 

Hero was Greta’s personal favorite, and tonight she called him to her chambers above the Secret Club’s entrance. It had been a long, slow day, and she could use a conclusion to it that was somewhat more exciting.

He poked his blond head through the curtain at the entrance to her room, bright blue eyes twinkling. She gestured him in. 

_ How may I serve tonight? _he signed, grinning cheekily.

“Clothes off,” she ordered. “And at attention.”

She reclined on her divan while he obeyed, quickly shucking off his trousers and standing with perfect posture just within her reach - feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back, staring forward. She took her time to simply admire him: lustrous golden hair, bright, curious eyes, his clean-shaven face pleasant to look at. A small, sturdy body with a perfect blend of muscle and softness. Strong shoulders and powerful hips. The faintest white lines etched into his chest were the only mark, at least when he had his trousers on, that perhaps once he could have been permitted into Gerudo Town perfectly legally. A rider’s thighs and behind, and golden curls framing a protruding pink clit. 

He was an incredible asset. Yes, half of the local vai (and perhaps some visiting ones besides) knew him for his skill and eagerness with his tongue, but they rarely had him undress. They left him to work in his trousers, satisfied to have a pretty voe kneeling before them. Smaller, but equally devoted, was the cadre of her clients who’d paid for access to more of his body, discovering that it wasn’t impossible to slip their fingers into a wet, eager entrance and hear a voe’s rough moans in response. And he loved it – he was responsive, wriggling and gasping and moaning and taking whatever the vai gave him. She could not have asked for a more eager worker.

When she was done drinking him in with her eyes, she beckoned him over. “Massage my head.”

He moved to stand beside her and threaded fingers through her smooth hair to her scalp, running them over her temples in soothing circles. She let him continue this for a time, simply closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation.

She stopped him after a while, and guided him down onto the divan, encouraging him to sprawl across her lap, on his back. She stroked him like a cat for a few minutes, watching him straddle the line between relaxed and eager, before slipping her fingers into his mouth. He closed his eyes and drew her in, running his tongue along her fingers, between them, gently sucking on them. She let him toy with them at his own pace, enjoying the sensation, while she cupped his sex with her other hand. He shifted slightly, and she ran her fingers through the golden hair between his legs, not quite touching the part of him that most wanted it. She watched his face as he put on a show of sucking off her fingers, looking up at her with his best sultry gaze, opening his mouth to lick along them. 

It was hard to resist playing with him when he did things like that, and without warning she pinched his clit hard, and shoved her fingers hard into his mouth at the same time, until he moaned and gagged slightly. She pushed her index and middle fingers in and out in a slow, thrusting rhythm, squeezing on his clit with the same rhythm. Once, before she’d taught him how to accept these attentions from clients with grace, he would have tried to wriggle away, would have tried to angle his head to free himself of the intrusion. But he’d learned so quickly that she’d _ tell _him if the clients wanted a cat-and-mouse game; if she didn’t specify, then his job was to accept how they touched him as long as it wasn’t something they hadn’t paid for. Now, his legs were tense but his hips were still, and he accepted her fucking his mouth with her hand, permitting the rough touches and groaning quietly.

She dipped a finger lower and found him wet. She murmured happily. Withdrawing her hand from his mouth, relishing the way his saliva trailed after her fingers, she smiled down at him, appreciating how his breath shuddered slightly.

“Don’t move, pretty voe,” she told him, and retrieved her toy phallus and its straps from her basket of such novelties. She buckled it on and approached the divan, pleased at how it bobbed in front of her, heavy and girthy. Kneeling on the divan, she used her still spit-covered fingers to probe into the voe. His breath hitched slightly, and then again as she guided the toy to his entrance. He opened for her beautifully – it was a unique satisfaction, watching the hard, heavy thing part his lips and disappear into his body, hearing his deep groan in response.

She bent forward over him, pinning his wrists back over his head with one of her hands, and thrust into him. He screwed his eyes shut as the full length of the toy plunged into him, and began to moan in a delicious rhythm as Greta picked up speed. _ Goddess, he’s beautiful, _she thought, watching him throw his head back and whimper. She grabbed his jaw again with the hand that wasn’t grasping his wrists and pushed the same two fingers into his mouth.

She fucked him hard enough to distract him from being artful with how he handled his mouth, staring eagerly as he accepted the fingers with his eyes closed, sucking at them before opening his mouth to moan. She squeezed his jaw, and he closed his lips tightly around her fingers again, hollowing his cheeks around them, sliding his tongue between them sloppily, desperately, as another low moan blossomed in his chest.

His orgasms were beautiful to watch – eyebrows creased and upturned in perfect vulnerability; deep, throaty groans; curled toes and clawed hands; hips canting up, up, up until his whole being shook. If she’d been mean to him tonight, he would have screamed; as it was, he simply gave a drawn-out, melodic moan as he came, and went limp.

She withdrew her toy from his body and her fingers from his mouth, smiling at his ragged gasp. His chest rose and fell as she looked down at him, pleased. But not done.

Greta didn’t need him kneeling for her. It was a lovely sight, to be sure, but she liked him on his back, pliant and vulnerable. She motioned for him to move. Legs shaking slightly, he complied, sliding to sit on the floor, leaning his head back onto the seat of the divan. He panted, his face woozy with satisfaction. As she approached, though, some of the sharpness returned to his expression. She crowded him, kneeling on the divan with one leg planted on either side of his upturned face. 

The voe licked his lips.

She lowered herself and gasped happily as she felt his tongue flicker across her lips and over her clit. _ Goddess, yes. _ She wound her hands in his hair and sank further, letting him lick around and inside her, take her into his mouth and run his tongue around, _ suck _on her, flickering and then languid and then insistent and then desperate, until she was breathing raggedly and thrusting down onto him and coming messily all over his pretty face.

He grinned at her when she got up, brushing his arm across his eyes.

“Well done, Hero. Thank you.”

Rising to pull his trousers back on, he signed, _ Happy to entertain you, Mistress Greta. _

“Oh, off with you,” she answered, shooing him out with a smile.

***

It was interesting to Link when people wanted something more than just his mouth on their vulva or more than their fingers inside him. That was his day-to-day, and he was good at it, and they loved him for it. But other things were _ new _. Even when they were bizarre or uncomfortable, he welcomed them with curiosity. 

He supposed it was the same thing in him that had landed him here in the first place, gallivanting into the desert with his spear raised… after weeks of running all over Hyrule, paragliding down off of cliffs and nearly into the grasping hands of Hinoxes or under the shadows of rumbling Taloses, heedless because it seemed there was something _ interesting _just around the next corner.

So when Greta warned him to get ready for a more intense client session than usual, and Sumati followed him down the steps for the first time and into his room, he was merely curious.

“Get on your back on the divan,” Sumati commanded. “And close your eyes.”

He obeyed, and felt her stepping close. Then felt her grab his wrists, one after the other, and pull them over his head. She wound something – soft rope – around them, and they were pulled back tight. She must have fastened them to something – perhaps the legs of the divan. She stripped off his trousers and then guided him to spread his legs so far apart that his feet landed on the floor on either side of the divan. She tied his ankles as well – to each other, he felt as he tried to wiggle experimentally. Finally, he felt her loom close to his face, and lift his head slightly, wrapping some heavy, pleasantly-scented cloth around his eyes. He felt her tighten it snugly before tying it off. 

His curiosity spiked, mixing with a vague apprehension as he realized just how little he could move, and how there was no way for him to see what was coming. Still, Greta wouldn’t put him in danger. She vetted her clients carefully, and didn’t allow them to do anything that would bring harm to the workers. But just because whatever was coming wasn’t dangerous didn’t mean it was necessarily going to be pleasant.

He jumped when he felt fingers on his opening. No warning, no little caresses elsewhere on his body. Sumati went right for him, pushing briskly past his lips and feeling him inside. He squirmed in slight discomfort. Equally abruptly, he felt a firm, businesslike flick against his clit, hard enough to be almost painful without any lead-in. He gasped.

Sumati gave a quiet noise of satisfaction, but didn’t speak as she continued to touch him in that brusque manner. Link wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt quite so objectified – even when he’d adorn himself in jewelry and silks and bells for a client, it wasn’t quite like this impassive touch delivered to his bound and helpless body. She stroked inside and flicked outside, and Link began to feel arousal building in him, starting to quiver under her hands.

Sumati’s fingers felt wet as she withdrew them, and he heard her make a quiet hum of approval. He heard the musically hollow sound of a cork being removed from some kind of flask. He hissed quietly in response to the cool liquid – some kind of fragrant oil – being poured over his genitals. And then – something blunt, and heavy, and _ large _ was pressing against his opening. It was too big, surely, to fit inside him, from the way it bumped against so _ much _ of him, but then Sumati was _ pushing _ it and he felt himself part painfully around it. His groan turned to a whimper, and then a sob, as the thing slid deeper, excruciatingly slow, filling him so completely and densely that his mind was completely consumed by the feeling. He struggled against the ropes holding him in place, but to no avail. His breath came fast and shallow and slightly crazed to his own ears, and then she _ pulled, _ and his entrance screamed around the thing’s girth, and then she _ pushed, _ and it was like being hit with a Talos’ boulder to his insides. She did it again, and he _ keened, _and felt tears spill from his eyes and into the cloth over his face. 

“Mm,” she said, and withdrew the thing, and reached up to untie the blindfold. She looked into his teary face, and her mouth spread into a hungry smile. Then she moved back to the end of the divan, and Link watched, and _ felt, _as she sank her entire hand into his body. He sobbed again as it filled him, writhing, helplessly overwhelmed. He knew people did this – others at the Secret Club had talked about experiencing it, or doing it, with varying levels of relish or dread. But he hadn’t expected this primally intense feeling, this combination of fear and awe. She withdrew and plunged into him again, and again, and after a few thrusts he was bucking his hips towards her, quaking with the sensation, muddled at the simultaneous pain and arousal.

When she pinched his clit with her other hand, he started crying openly, and she spoke for the first time since they’d walked into the room: a fervently hissed, “_ Yes.” _

He learned that day that if Sumati appeared on his list of scheduled clients, he could expect to cry. This was the main common thread between the various acts he ended up doing for her, as they were otherwise wildly varied, and generally _ very _involved. He could only assume that she had some incredibly substantial wealth, as Greta charged more for things like that, and after Sumati’s visits, Greta usually treated them all to something special – dishes made with truffles, or fine salted meat, and once, the incredible luxury of shaved ice.

The shaved ice came after the time Sumati hired both him and Ijem at the same time. When he’d been told of this the day before, he’d felt a thrill of eagerness. He hadn’t gotten to play with Ijem yet – the Zora was polite and reserved, and had ignored or rebuffed most of Link’s attempts to flirt, or his slyly-signed insinuations that he’d had experience with other Zora men. Link tried not to be too put–out by this – Ijem couldn’t have disliked him _ that _much, as he kept letting Link swim in his pool during time off, and often sat near him at meals.

The truth was that Link’s most memorable and enjoyable dalliance before ending up in Greta’s menagerie had been with another Zora, and he was eager to repeat the experience. Ijem was wry and taciturn where Sidon had been enthusiastic and guileless, but his eyes twinkled just as bright.

Sumati had positioned them in the middle of the Secret Club’s main floor, surrounded by the lush seats and quiet alcoves framed with hanging plants. Link did a lot of his work out here, for clients who liked to be observed as they took their pleasure, or who liked to observe others. Sumati had pointed them to one of the pillow-strewn, beautifully-woven rugs on the floor, and waved at them to begin as she sat back to watch.

Link knelt in front of Ijem, grinning as he leaned forward to touch his mouth to the slit at his crotch, teasing the Zora out with his tongue. Ijem laughed softly, almost bashfully. Link was delighted. It wasn’t long before he was rewarded with the tip of Ijem’s bright cyan upper phallus peeking out, slightly curled, followed shortly by the slightly darker, turquoise lower one. He urged them both out, admiring the slick, narrow end of the first and the straining knobs in the second.

“Get on with it,” Sumati commanded, and Link wasted no time in sliding his mouth over the first cock – the fertilizing, prehensile one. He ran his tongue over the little bumps along its underside, but his explorations were cut short by Ijem’s hands gripping his head and jaw fiercely, holding him still in a vise-like grip. He let out a little huff of surprise – hadn’t expected this from the Zora – and sputtered as the tentacle-like phallus twitched and pushed further into his mouth, and then _ further, _beginning to fill his throat.

Link squirmed. He’d been caught off-guard, and if Ijem would just let him _ adjust, _he could do better. He’d certainly had experience training his gag reflex before, but it had been quite a while and he was out of practice. If he could just –

He began to choke as Ijem’s cock twitched in his throat, and felt tears start in his eyes. And heard Sumati give a satisfied growl. Of course. 

Ijem tilted his hips back, giving Link a moment for air. Link looked up at him and gave a tiny nod as their eyes met. Then, Ijem was pushing his writhing cock deep into Link’s throat, the second phallus sliding and bumping against Link’s chin. The Zora thrust in and out, giving Link just enough time to breathe in through his nose before filling his throat again, causing him to sputter and gag.

It wasn’t long before his face was tear-streaked and Ijem’s lower cock was dripping with Hylian saliva, stickily rubbing under Link’s chin. The Zora’s grip in his hair intensified, becoming quite painful, and his upper cock shuddered and strained, not pulling back to allow Link to breathe. Link choked, a twisted, guttural sound deep in his throat, and drool pooled out of his mouth on either side of Ijem’s cock. His nose brushed the skin of the Zora’s groin and he struggled to breathe, and then – an explosion of hot, jetting slime, too much for Link to swallow all at once. He choked again as some of Ijem’s come squirted upward, spurting out at the corners of his mouth. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling a couple more tears slide down his cheeks as he waited for the Zora to finish unloading, trying to hold his breath.

Finally, Ijem withdrew from Link’s mouth in a rush of slime, loosening his grip on Link’s hair. Catching his breath, Link looked over at Sumati, who was smirking in satisfaction. He glanced down at himself, and realized what a picture he must make to the fierce vai: face streaked with tears, hair mussed, chin and chest coated in Ijem’s thick, slightly opalescent come. He stared her in the eyes as he wiped his chin.

He was almost surprised at Ijem’s hand on his shoulder, pushing his front down. He turned to look questioningly at the Zora, who murmured, “You’re not done.” Link raised an eyebrow as he settled on all fours, and Ijem looked meaningfully down at his lower cock – the wide, egg-laying one. “_ I’m _not done.”

Link felt his eyes widen in apprehension. Sidon had never needed to relieve his second cock when they’d been in each other’s company – it had just _ been there, _ satisfying for penetrating him while the prehensile one writhed over his clit. Ijem needing to actually _ lay eggs _was a slightly intimidating thought. 

Then the Zora’s upper cock curled lewdly against Link’s entrance and up over his ass, smearing thick wetness over him, and he steeled himself. How bad could it be?

A few minutes later, after Ijem’s thrusts had already undone him enough that his face was buried in the pillows on the floor, his hips tilted up to meet the Zora’s, the first egg emerged from Ijem’s cock with a gush of fluid, and Link felt himself quail slightly. The texture of it was rubbery and smooth, but much more _ solid _than he expected, and it pushed against the inside of him as Ijem continued to rock against him. 

Then the second one came, and Link moaned, feeling full and odd as they rolled wetly when Ijem pushed between them. Then there was a third. Link heard himself keen helplessly at the next thrust, starting to cry again at the overwhelming sense of being _ full. _More, and he was sure he would burst. And yet a fourth egg emerged into him, Ijem’s quiet finally broken by a soft, euphoric groan. Link’s voice rose over it in a moan that transformed into a shriek as a Ijem pumped out a fifth egg. He writhed on the floor, trying to tug himself away from the Zora’s firm grasp on his hips, frightened of taking on more, feeling like his whole body was throbbing with his heartbeat. Tears poured down his face and sobs wracked his throat, drool and Ijem’s come pooling on the pillow under his face.Then, somehow, there was a sixth egg, and Ijem’s cock went limp, withdrawing from Link’s body, leaving the half-dozen eggs and a dribble of dark slime. 

Link groaned, ready to push the eggs out, but Sumati’s voice snapped, “Leave them.”

He turned to look at her through a haze of tears. She padded over to him, bringing her ornate sandals level with his face. “Up on your knees,” she commanded.

He raised himself with the effort of a lamb standing up for the first time, quaking and bleating pathetically, vision swimming. Then the vai crouched on the floor in front of him and reached to touch his slick opening and swollen clit. He cried out.

“Good,” she said brusquely. “You can let go of the eggs when you come. If you drop one sooner,” she grinned, “Well, I’m sure you won’t like what I’ll do.” And she started flickering her fingers over him. His breath shuddered and he whimpered at the effort of holding the eggs inside, maintaining that all-encompassing fullness painfully despite her distracting touch.

She drew the experience out, pressing and squeezing at him cruelly until he was weeping desperately and she was practically holding him upright by his hair. When he finally came, the eggs spilled out easily, and he sobbed with relief, sagging in Sumati’s grip. He crumpled to the floor when she let go of his hair, trying to catch his breath. She seemed to be done with him, though – by the time he was able to haul himself into a sitting position, she had turned and was walking back to Greta’s desk upstairs.

Instead, Ijem crouched next to him.

“Doing okay?” the Zora asked calmly.

Link grinned back at him, feeling a little punch-drunk. He nodded.

“I didn’t hurt you?” 

Link shook his head. Now that the shock of the experience was wearing off, he felt the same warm satisfaction creeping up on him that he used to feel after jumping recklessly into a camp of Bokoblins, or when he wiped out after shield-surfing down a treacherous slope. The adrenaline of fear and the tax on his body ebbed, leaving a euphoric sort of exhaustion. He supposed the crying only helped – he remembered how clean he’d used to feel after a good cry.

_ Let me know next time you need to lay some eggs and want a little help, _signed Link.

“You’re kidding.”

Link shook his head.

“Then you’re crazy, Hero.”

Link just winked.

***

When Sumati asked for what she wanted of Hero this time, Greta hadn’t been all that surprised. It was a bit extreme, sure, but she was sure the randy little Hylian could handle it. And Sumati didn’t even blink when Greta tallied up the cost of the whole thing – just handed the rupees over and asked for the soonest available date.

When the day came, she locked the front door after welcoming Sumati in. This she had to see for herself. She followed the short-haired vai down the steps into the main room, where most of her little menagerie was already assembled, waiting on the various divans and cushions. Hero stood in the center, beside a sturdy wooden table.

Greta watched as Sumati stepped up to him, pushing him so his chest was supported on the table’s surface. With a length of fine rope, the other vai bound his arms and chest to the table, with a series of ornate knots, checking that they were secure. The Hylian wriggled, but was clearly bound in place. Bent forward at a right angle, his behind looked perfect, muscles taut, sturdy thighs framing his sex.

Greta whistled, and Koth strode heavily into the room. A few of the other workers muttered amongst themselves as he approached Hero.

She’d given the moblin the name after the shrine she’d found him by, vultures already circling when she’d ridden up behind a rented sand seal. Someone – perhaps Lizalfos, perhaps other Moblins – had beaten him severely and left him for dead. She had been apprehensive about bringing a Blin into the Secret Club, but he seemed quite happy to eschew beating anyone over the head in favor of a generous diet of meat and an occasional fuck.

Koth’s long snout quivered as he towered over Hero. The Hylian’s eyes widened when he heard the Moblin’s snorting breath behind him, and Greta saw him swallow nervously as Koth’s large, rough hands bracketed him on either side, resting on the table. Koth knelt – with his incredible height, he still had to stoop to whiff at Hero’s opening. Greta could see the Moblin salivating.

Koth opened his mouth wide, huge tongue pressing against Hero’s vulva. The Hylian gasped loudly – he wasn’t often on the receiving end of someone else’s tongue, that was true. Koth gave a buzzing, eager growl and lapped against Hero until the voe was shivering and gasping quietly. Then, angling his head, the Moblin pushed his whole tongue into the Hylian’s body, drawing a long, low moan from the voe. 

Greta looked over at Sumati, who was watching intently. She could see the appeal. With Koth’s long snout, the lower half of Hero’s torso was practically in the Moblin’s mouth, lower belly, genitals, and ass all enveloped in the tusked jaws. Koth flexed his tongue inside the Hylian, and Hero writhed and bucked back against it, grinding his clit against the inside of the Moblin’s mouth.

Hero climaxed twice on Koth’s tongue before the Moblin was ready, enormous cock fully erect. Greta supposed that did take a lot of blood, and it had quite a distance to travel through the Moblin’s long body. Another round of murmurs swept through the small crowd. The sheer size of Koth’s genitals was difficult not to comment on. Heavy and almost shockingly thick near the tip, it tapered toward a graceful base, interrupted on the way with a smaller swell that was ridged similarly to the curving horn on his head.

Koth raised his huge head, jaws dripping with saliva and Hero’s wetness, and stood. He lined up behind the Hylian’s gracefully stretching legs, and wrapped his huge hands around the now-quivering thighs. The tip of that astonishing cock touched the swollen pink of Hero’s sex, and the Hylian’s breath caught. The Moblin gave a shuddering grunt as he began working himself into Hero’s body.

Watching Hero’s opening stretch taut to accommodate Koth made Greta gasp quietly, and she wasn’t the only one. It was mesmerizing. Hero trembled, and groaned, and panted, and then hollered raggedly as the Moblin’s cock slowly, steadily began to sink into him. Koth spread one of his huge hands over the Hylian’s shoulder. There was no way Hero could have risen from the table, and the Moblin’s weight seemed to overwhelm him further. 

Hero shrieked when the Moblin was fully buried in his body, and broke down into sobs when Koth withdrew, stretching the Hylian’s opening again before plunging all the way back in.

The Moblin found his rhythm, and Greta watched him pound into Hero with rough force, growling his pleasure as the Hylian squirmed and moaned and wept. She glanced at Sumati again, who had a fierce grin on her face and was staring raptly at Hero’s face. The other vai let out a groan of pleasure when the Hylian wailed. Greta saw why – the swell near the base of Koth’s cock growing, stretching Hero’s opening again even as the heavy thickness of him must have been shoving hard at the deepest parts of the Hylian’s body. 

The Moblin stilled, knot still swelling, and the sounds that flowed from Hero’s mouth became something feral – desperate snarls and grunts punctuated by sobbing whimpers as he tried to angle his hips to better accommodate the immense pressure of Koth’s cock. And then the Moblin came with a roar, body spasming, legs shaking, viscous, dark fluid dripping out of Hero’s body around Koth and to the floor. Hero’s groan twisted into a keening whine as Koth pulled out. A flood of dark Moblin come rushed out as Hero’s body gaped, and the Hylian’s legs buckled.

Sumati looked down her nose at the Hylian – his face pressed into the table, heedless of the tears and saliva streaked over it, panting raggedly – and smiled.

***

The belt frustrated Link more than any painful, bizarre, or humiliating sex act he’d been asked to do during his time at the Gerudo Secret Club. 

He was used to having sex _ often. _Every day, at least, if not several times a day. Having orgasms at least daily, even if he had to test his endurance to achieve them. Having his access to that suddenly restricted made him feel itchy, impatient, desperate. 

After the fourth day, squirming, tossing and turning on his divan, he thought curses at Greta. _ Sadistic hag. Locking me up like some prized breeding stock as a gift for your kinky girlfriend. Ass. _

The belt held a small, convex shield of metal over his clit, so he couldn’t touch himself, and two thin metal ribs swept down from it and nestled around his opening. He could still piss between them when he had to, but nothing larger than one of his fingers could fit between them, and that certainly did no good. The whole contraption was held together with sturdy leather and locked around his waist and thighs, and stupid Romah had the key. He’d done everything he could to get past it – contorting his legs at odd angles to try to make enough space to get between it and his flesh, cramming narrow objects between the metal ribs, even pouring water over the metal shield in the hopes that the vibration might reach him. Nothing worked. No amount of friction would budge it. Without any tools to cut through it, and with none of the other workers willing to risk Greta’s ire, he was stuck.

Greta had called him up to her chambers. Romah had been sitting on the divan with her, sipping tea, and looking at him like a shepherd assessing a prize ram. Greta’d told him that she had a bit of a new request for him. He’d raised his eyebrows, but not expected much. After the last big surprise, he couldn’t imagine anything that might be more daunting. Greta had commanded him to strip, and get on all fours. Romah had caressed him possessively, mussing his hair and touching his genitals teasingly. He’d just started to get worked up, pushing back against her hands, when she’d hauled him to his feet and gripped his wrists behind his back, while Greta had slipped the belt up around his hips and locked it in place.

When the belt had been secure, Romah let go of his wrists and he whirled around. _ What is this? _ he’d signed furiously.

“It’s a chastity device,” Greta had answered with a laugh. “Romah here has the key. She has you – and your pleasure – all to herself for a month. You won’t be able to touch yourself, and no one else will be able to do much to you either. Thanks to Sumati’s little spending spree, I won’t be accepting clients for you for that time.”

_ A month?! _His jaw had dropped. The two vai had just laughed.

Romah called on him once a day or so. For the first week, she’d laughingly order him to kneel on the floor at her feet and please her with his mouth. She’d correct his posture and tell him not to sulk, and stroke his hair when he obeyed.

The other workers hid smiles behind their hands as he strode around the main floor of the Club, scowling. He tried to keep busy, throwing himself into his experiments in the kitchen with fervor, even asking some of the others to teach him how to play their instruments or show him their various handcrafts. He gritted his teeth at their glances of amused pity and tried to focus.

On the seventh day, when Romah wouldn’t let him get up until she’d come seven times, she laughed in his face at his scowl. “It’s good for your character to give so much pleasure without receiving your own. Generosity is a virtue. And look how much you’re learning.” She touched his straight shoulders and arched back. “You’re already much improved from the wild hoyden you were a few days ago. Now get that ugly look off your pretty face.”

As he composed himself, she trailed a hand down his torso, tapping her palm lightly against the shield over his genitals. He gasped lightly at this contact – more touch there than he’d had for a week – and looked up into her warm, stern gaze. 

“When I come back tomorrow, I want you to show me something new you’ve learned this week.”

When she called on him the next day, he greeted her with a meticulously-made fruit pie. He’d beaten the cream and folded the pastry with great care – a significant improvement on his previous attempts at making desserts. He watched her face carefully as she took a bite, and could feel himself relax when she smiled. He couldn’t help a blush of pride when she told him, “This is very good work, Hero. Very good indeed.” 

His resentment of her started to dissipate when she reached for him and tugged his trousers open, reaching her hand inside and toying with him around the belt. He gasped as her fingers grazed his lips, stroking along the metal ribs of the device, and he tilted his hips toward her touch. She quickly withdrew her hand, chuckling. A small sound of protest escaped his lips.

“Now now, remember your posture, Hero. Composure. No whining.”

He straightened up, resentment flooding back into him.

“Now, on your knees for me.”

After she came, she commanded him to sit at her feet and lay his head against her thigh. She stroked his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and neck. After a time, it even relaxed him.

“There’s a good voe,” she murmured as he sighed deeply.

On the ninth day, after presenting her with another dessert, he stayed perfectly still as she fondled him around the device, standing straight up with his hands clasped behind his back. She explored and teased, building the pressure of frustration within him. But he held still, and bit back his dismay when she withdrew her hand. He sank to his knees in front of her before she even asked. 

By the fifteenth day, he’d spent enough time learning from one of the other Hylian men that he was able to present Romah with a half-decent little wooden bowl along with the dish he’d made for her. Her praise was lavish. He stood up straight, signed a polite _ Thank you, _and knelt in front of her, focusing carefully on her pleasure. He looked up into her face when she was done, schooling his expression to neutral interest, expecting her to tap her thigh to indicate for him to lean his head there for her to scratch his head, like a faithful dog.

Instead, she quirked an eyebrow. 

“You’ve been very good,” she told him. “And good behavior means rewards.”

He almost lost the careful neutrality of his expression as she gestured for him to stand. He stood in front of her, hands clasped behind his back, trying not to give away how quickly his heart was pounding. 

Romah opened his trousers and pushed them down, motioning for him to lift his feet one at a time as she pulled them off. She took from her pocket a small key. It was all he could do not to cry out with joy as she unlocked the belt and let it fall along with his trousers. He breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself as she reached between his legs, but he couldn’t help gasping quietly when her open palm pressed against him, ever so lightly. She slid her hand up, then down, and his breath shuddered. He bit his lip, trying to still the impulse to buck into her hand.

“Very good, Hero,” she laughed. He couldn’t help but blush.

She continued to fondle him, slowly, torturously, until he was whimpering with the sensation and the struggle not to chase her with his hips. Finally, she announced, “I think that’s enough for today,” and pulled away from his groin, her hands sliding appreciatively up his torso and over his behind.

When she picked up the belt and slid it back into place, he whined in dismay. She laughed again. “No whining, voe. It’s unbecoming. You should be grateful that I let you have the belt off at all.”

She took his belt off and touched him every day, from then on, always stopping well short of his orgasm and locking him back up. He learned to contain the dismay in his voice quickly, and signed, _ Thank you, Romah, _before pulling his trousers back up and sitting on the floor at her feet.

On the twenty-fifth day, before pulling the belt back on, she told him to close his eyes. He obeyed, and felt something cool and hard at his entrance. He gasped lightly, and she pushed the object into him. He moaned at the sensation of being entered, and the cool pressure against his lips as the base of the thing nestled against the outside of him. Then the belt closed around him, the metal ribs snug against the object’s base, the shield back in place over his clit. He heard the _ click _of the lock in Romah’s fingers.

The rocking of the toy was a torment. It shifted in and against him as he walked. He couldn’t run up the steps of the Secret Club or do his usual exercise routine without whimpering, heat rising in his face until he was blushing furiously. It made a slow, trickling process of taking a piss, and an even slower, more frustrating process of falling asleep. His dreams were hot and desperate and he woke up moaning and rocking his hips fruitlessly against his cushions.

It made him whimper, too, as he closed his lips around Romah’s clit the next day, his face hot and the effort of maintaining his posture becoming increasingly taxing. She seemed hungrier than usual, tugging on his hair and grinding against his mouth, finishing loudly. She patted her lap afterward, telling him, “Come, sit,” in a husky voice. When he obeyed, she unlocked the belt, peeling it away, and pressed her hand at the base of the toy to keep it inside him until he was situated, straddling one of her wide, muscled thighs. She pulled him close. “Go ahead and show me how it makes you feel,” she whispered in his ear. “I won’t punish you for bad posture today.”

And she shifted her leg so it ground up against him, jostling the toy and buffeting his clit. He moaned. helplessly. Her knuckles pressed against the front of him as she encouraged him to grind on her leg, and the fingers of her other hand tweaked first one of his nipples, then the other, then wrapped gently but firmly around his throat. His face was baking hot as she gazed at him, his eyebrows knitting with the desire to finally come. He started rocking faster against her thigh, gasping, and – she squeezed her hand around his neck, until it was hard to breathe.

“Stop, now,” she commanded, and he went limp against her broad torso, shoulders shaking. “I know,” she crooned sympathetically. “Soon.” As if this wasn’t her design.

On the twenty-seventh day, she never even took the belt off. After she came on his tongue, she strapped a toy cock onto him over the belt, and laid him out on his back on the floor of his chambers, and sank down onto it, riding him mercilessly until he was bucking and whimpering and crying out, her movements and her weight jostling the toy in him maddeningly. She finished again, stood, and settled herself on the divan. He crawled over to sit at her feet, still panting and whimpering.

The final day arrived, and Link woke eager and determined. He took extra care bathing and preparing himself for Romah, rubbing scented oil under his ears and through his hair, choosing a pair of trousers made of a rich turquoise-and-gold silk that complemented his features. He blushed vividly when Romah arrived, though he greeted her politely, presenting her with a slice of apple pie in a rather nicely-made wooden bowl, this time.

“You look lovely today, Hero,” she murmured as she made herself comfortable on his divan. “And this is very good work. I’m happy to see how much you’ve enriched yourself over the course of our time.”

_ Thank you, _he signed. 

“You’ve become much more polite, too,” she complemented. “And I would say that your work ethic has improved to match your talents.”

_ Thank you, Romah, _he signed again.

She nodded, and he knelt before her again, determined to satisfy her beyond her expectations. He leaned forward, and went to work with his tongue. His resolve carried him through even when his neck became sore and the effort of holding his arch-backed posture became grueling; she climaxed again and again, her grip in his hair increasingly intense. Finally, she tugged on his hair until he turned up to face her, chin shiny with moisture and a woozy look in his eyes.

“You’ve done well,” she said. “On your feet.”

He breathed hard as she slid the silk trousers from his hips and unlocked the belt, caressing him appreciatively after casting it aside. Her large fingers danced over him, teasing and possessive, until he was quaking on his feet. Finally, she dipped a finger into him, then a second, and he hissed with want. Her thumb stroked along his clit, and he gave a low, drawn-out moan.

She eased him onto the divan when his knees started to tremble, and thrust her hand more forcefully. Just when he thought his orgasm was approaching, she withdrew. He bit his lip to keep from whining.

“Oh, very good,” she chuckled. Then the toy that had lived inside him for the past few days was pushing into him, and Romah was twirling and twisting and bucking it inside him until he was moaning and gasping loudly. “That’s it,” she encouraged, and when he started to shake again, she pulled it away. He clamped his hands over his mouth to contain the dismayed sound that threatened to spill from his throat, staring up at her.

She grinned back.

_ Please, _he signed, and her face lit up with delight. She nudged the toy back in with one hand and pressed the heel of her other hand over his clit.

His orgasm swept over him like a surprise storm, and for a moment he thought to try and hold it back, in case Romah didn’t want him to – but she was gazing at him eagerly with her lip between her teeth. “Go ahead, Hero,” she murmured, bucking the toy faster, harder, pressing her hand into his clit just lightly enough. He let go with a plaintive “_ haah–!” _

_ “Very _good,” she praised, standing up. 

_ Thank you, _he signed, gratefully. 

She grinned again. “Thank you, Hero. Let’s hope Greta has the opportunity to spoil me like this again.”

Link saw her out, waving goodbye as she disappeared upstairs to pay Greta a visit. He turned around and took a deep breath of relief. He was free, the silk of his trousers brushing against his skin, no leather or metal caging him.

He smiled. Maybe Koth needed someone to keep him company.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!  
Would love to hear what you thought <3
> 
> Shoutout to my pal @cherrypugpie on twt, who beta-read this for me and gave me some very valuable suggestions on improving it.


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